


Three French Hens

by lindsey_grissom



Category: Bones (TV)
Genre: Christmas, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-16
Updated: 2009-12-16
Packaged: 2017-10-10 14:57:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/101023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lindsey_grissom/pseuds/lindsey_grissom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This Christmas, Booth has a special surprise for Brennan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Three French Hens

**Author's Note:**

> Set somewhere in the early half of Season Five. Unbeta'd because it was a present for said Beta.

"Hey, no peeking Bones!"

Booth snatched the wrapped box from her hand and returned it to its place under the tree. The happiness in his eyes, the contentment, drew a smile to her lips even as she protested.

"I wasn't peeking. I was-" She tried to think, really think about why she had lifted up the gift after Booth had repeatedly told her not to, but could not think of a single reason except the truth. She _was_ peeking.

Booth chuckled. Reaching out and clasping her hand in his, he dragged her back into his kitchen. He left her standing at the counter and she reached out for her glass of wine when a large bowl was placed in front of her. "Here, stir this. Keep those wandering hands of yours busy." With narrowed eyes, because he was right, she grabbed at the wooden spoon Booth was waving in her face and set to work stirring the - she hoped this was vegetarian - stuffing.

Across from her, Booth bent down to inspect something in the small oven. A recent addition to the small kitchen, electric rather than the gas one his grandfather had destroyed. Still stirring absentmindedly, she craned her neck trying to see what it was that Booth was cooking. He had been surprisingly tightlipped about this dinner; saying only that it was traditional and a secret and she _would_ enjoy it. A delicious mixture of herbs and spices reached her nose and she breathed in, wondering if he had been getting lessons from Doctor Wyatt.

She thought she caught sight of something, the barest hint of a roasting tray before it was blocked once again by the oven door as Booth closed it and stood to inspect the pans of vegetables on the hob. It was still so strange for her to see him like this; domestic. Still, it did not surprise her just how well organised he was, in complete control of every aspect of the evening so far. That at least was typical for her partner.

"Hey Bones, you finished with that stuffing? These old hens are about done." His words cut off abruptly and she read the sudden tension in his back. He turned to her slowly, looking half-way between annoyance at the slip and sadness that the secret was out. She wanted to tell him it didn't matter but her mouth refused to work for her. He had forgotten.

She hated these moments. Moments when she was suddenly and blindingly reminded of the last few months. Of how Booth wasn't quite back to is old self, some parts of his memory still missing. Still, until now his memories of her had seemed to be all present, if a little muddled with his dream scape. That he could forget even this about her, well, it hurt. Even if that wasn't at all rational. But she couldn't bring herself to tell him. He hated being reminded of that time too and she was reluctant to ruin the evening for both of them.

"Think you can forget I said that, Bones?" Which of course she couldn't, and he couldn't really expect her too, even if to him the only slip was in revealing what he had been cooking. However, needing time to focus her thoughts and figure out a way to force herself to actually eat the poultry when he served it, she found herself nodding.

She watched as he frowned in bemusement at the unusual capitulation to the irrationality but the expression was soon lost to one of relief as he reached over and took the bowl from her grasp, catching and squeezing one of her hands in his as he did. "Why don't you go wait in the lounge? This bit's easier with more room." He turned his back to her as he transferred the stuffing from the bowl to a small glass dish. "It'll be about fifteen minutes. But stay away from the presents." He turned back to her as he bent for the oven again, his smile teasing.

She nodded, certain now that whatever the discomfort to herself, not telling him about his memory slip was the right thing to do.

The coffee table had already been laid with a seasonal cloth; snowmen and santa's grinned up at her from the red fabric when she placed her glass down. Crackers were scattered amongst empty mats that Booth had assured her would soon hold all the 'trimmings'.

Taking a seat, she drew in a deep breath, trying to return to the feeling of peace she remembered having only a few minutes ago. It wasn't his fault and she would _not_ let it ruin anything more. That decided, she relaxed back against the couch and found herself humming lightly to the music that softly filled the entire apartment. She didn't know the words to the current carol, but between the recent cases, she had found herself hearing more and more of the traditional Christmas carols as Booth allowed the seasonal spirit to overtake him. And this one he had been humming himself only yesterday. The song changed, followed by another and she lost herself, hearing each in Booth's own voice instead of the true vocals.

"Here we go." She almost jumped at the words and turned quickly to see Booth entering the room, several platters in his hands, piled high with vegetables and different potatoes. Placing them on the table, he returned to the kitchen coming back with another platter and a boat of steaming gravy. He returned to the kitchen one last time and she braced herself. He had spent a lot of time on this and she would make sure he knew it was appreciated, even if the thought of eating actual meat was ruining her delight at the delicious smells wafting up from the table.

Booth finally reentered the room, three plates balanced awkwardly. With no fanfare at all, he placed one plate in front of her, another at his setting on the table and the last in amongst the other dishes. She looked down and came face to face with-

-a hen.

Or at least the paper cut-out of a hen, adorned with a comic grin, a black and white stripped t-shirt and what looked like a necklace of garlic around its neck. She blinked, not quite understanding what she was seeing and looked over at Booth's plate. He had placed his to ensure that his own standing cut-out faced her and she saw a second chicken smiling at her, this one sans garlic but wielding a baguette like a sword. Just to check, and because it seemed the natural thing to do, she moved her eyes to the third plate and was unsurprised to find a third hen, this one dressed in a blue, white and red top, a speech bubble sprouting from its beak which read: 'moi?'. Oddly, one of its wings was bent in and seemed to be pointing at its chest.

She moved her eyes back to Booth and found him grinning widely, his eyes sparkling as he fought back laughter. Reaching over he removed the hen from her plate and she saw that it had hidden a perfectly cooked nut roast.

"Tradition Bones; three french hens." Booth chuckled and bent forward to lift one of the platters, helping himself to the potatoes. She watched him and revelled in the familiar sensation that flooded through her knowing she had been tricked by him. She just couldn't decide if right now she wanted to laugh with him or shoot him with his own gun.

 

**End.**


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